The Majorcan Conundrum
by varjaks
Summary: Molly Hooper decides to take a much deserved holiday soon after Sherlock's return from the dead. Unfortunately for her, the consulting detective isn't too far behind. [oneshot]


**A/N:** If you're on Tumblr, you'll know that the Sherlolly tag is full of anon fic fairies. This was one of the longer stories I've left in someone's askbox, particularly ditsypersephone, whose contribution to the original two-parter led to a full-fledged fic. I also want to thank Benedict Cumberbatch for his bird-printed swimming shorts, which do make an important appearance. Lastly and unfortunately for all of us, my ability to think of titles isn't improving. My bad.

**Disclaimer:** No, I'm still waiting to have some claim over this so Molly and I can finally have that cup of coffee I keep yammering about.

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"On holiday? Molly Hooper _never_ takes holidays."

Mike Stamford resisted the urge to slide down his seat as Sherlock loomed over the desk. He took a deep breath and stood (though the effect was far less intimidating than he hoped). "Which is why I approved her request. The last three years haven't been easy."

Something in Sherlock's eyes shifted before he looked back at Mike with cool regard.

"Of course. I'll see you in the lab, Stamford." Sherlock nodded, turned and left the office.

The remaining occupants of the room watched as the doors closed behind the world's only consulting detective.

"Well, I hope you know what you're doing, Mike." John patted the other doctor on the shoulder.

Mike sat back down and shook his head. "Four weeks, John. I was so close to begging Molly to shorten her trip but heaven knows the woman deserves it."

"That she does, but an entire month?" John grabbed an empty chair and took a seat. He leaned back and sighed heavily. "God help us."

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Molly thought that the scorching heat had finally fried her brain. For how else was she to explain seeing Sherlock walking towards her.

Rising from the deck chair she'd been lounging on, Molly slid her sunglasses up to take a proper look. She tried to remember everything she knew about mirages until the 'mirage' stood in front of her.

"Sherlock…" she said, looking him up and down, unable to believe her eyes

"Molly," Sherlock nodded, the briefest of smiles appearing on his face.

"Are those birds on your shorts?"

Sherlock looked down at the pair of shorts he bought in the airport and grimaced. "Yes. There aren't enough details so I can't be certain as to what species they're supposed to be, though I doubt scientific accuracy was an important criteria-"

"Sherlock," Molly cut in before he could pick up even more steam. "Why are you here?"

"A case." She looked at him disbelievingly. Sherlock turned his eyes to the bright, fruity drink on the table next to her. "For Mycroft," he added with a smile.

Molly thought back to Mycroft's early morning phone call to her hotel room about his brother's arrival in Majorca. She didn't question how he'd known where to contact her when she had switched off her mobile after arriving a week ago. Mycroft had also warned about Sherlock's determination to return her to St. Bart's early. Not that she imagined Mycroft as the joking type, but she had hoped it was just a terrible joke. _Clearly not_, she fumed to herself as she looked up at Sherlock.

Sherlock glanced at Molly, who was oddly not as surprised as he'd expected. He sighed. "Mycroft called you."

Molly nodded and reached out for her drink. "He was kind enough to warn me about you coming here."

"Of course he was," Sherlock replied drily.

"I've only been here a week. There's no way I'm going back home before my 4 weeks paid leave is through."

"Molly—"

"No."

"There's no need to be unreasonable—"

"Like you are?" Molly threw back, tempted to chuck the mini-umbrella at his face. "Mike used to assist you in the lab and morgue before I started in St. Bart's. He may be out of practice, but I'm sure he's been doing a fine job." Molly lowered her sunglasses back over her face and eased back onto the deck chair. "I'll see you in 3 weeks."

Sherlock, dressed in his non species-specific bird-printed shorts, did not take the dismissal well. "Molly, you are going back to St. Bart's—"

"No, I'm not."

Sherlock felt a flush creep up his neck and cursed the hot summer weather. "I told John and Mike that I'm bringing you home—though Mycroft clearly knows, and by now they've told Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and Mary." He huffed and threw himself on the lawn chair beside hers. "I will not be made into a liar, Molly."

"You shouldn't have promised then." She took another sip of her drink. Minutes of silence passed before Molly turned to check if Sherlock had fallen asleep. She found him sprawled on his stomach watching her under his sweaty fringe. Molly instantly regretted leaving her towel in her hotel room and subconsciously crossed her arms over her nautical striped bikini top.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "I must say I'm surprised. I thought you'd opt for something predictable like skulls."

Molly blushed as she thought of the cute skull-printed underpants she had planned on changing into after sunbathing.

"Ah," Sherlock looked at her knowingly. The urge to throw the mini-umbrella at his face returned fiercer than before.

Sherlock smirked at Molly before he righted himself on the chair. "Do they have a spa menu here or is this the kind of place where you need to go to the front desk?"

Confusion was quick to cut through Molly's anger. "Pardon?"

"You refuse to leave and I am not going back a liar, so the obvious logical solution here is to stay with you."

She could only blink when he swiped the drink from her hands.

"Not bad," Sherlock admitted and sipped again. "I'll have to order one after my massage."

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End file.
